


Flytraps and Flowers

by heatgeneratingtechniques



Category: Rhett & Link, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatgeneratingtechniques/pseuds/heatgeneratingtechniques
Summary: Link has been acting strange, and despite imminent peril from flesh-eating plants, Rhett wants the whole town to know about it.





	

Rhett: (dramatically) Two asymmetrical suns hang in the sky today, and both of them are crimson. That’s what you hope their color is, at least. Otherwise, your eyes might be bleeding.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, something very serious has occurred. Well, serious to me, at least. My boyfriend Link – who, as you know, is the amazing engineer responsible for increasing the efficiency of our drawbridge construction – wasn’t in bed beside me when I woke up this morning. I was upset because he’d just gotten back from a long trip. He’s been away doing great engineering things, probably things like designing assembly lines and disproving the existence of mountains. But he got back, and now he’s not here. He promised he’d visit the station today, but I haven’t seen him all day. Come to think of it... he was very quiet last night as well.

Witnesses have reported that he was last seen by the house that doesn’t exist talking to an angel that definitely doesn’t exist. They were talking about flowers. Wait, _flowers_?? Link never talks about flowers. This is all very confusing. I wish I knew what he was doing. It’s strange to wish you knew something that you’ve always known before. I don’t like it. Please forward all tips regarding this matter to the sheriff’s secret police. And to me. I need to know why my boyfriend isn’t here and why he’s not answering his phone. He’s not… angry with me, is he?

I’m sorry. I am a professional. I must focus on the news.

John Peters – you know, the farmer – has reported that Venus flytraps are growing on his farm. This would not be newsworthy were it not for the fact that these Venus flytraps are six feet tall, have two rows of razor-sharp teeth and have already devoured several unsuspecting citizens who wandered too close. The sheriff’s secret police have so far been unable to contain these flesh-eating plants, and advise everyone to steer clear of John Peters’ farm until the area is secure.

Speaking of eating, that’s one of the many things my boyfriend is good at. He eats all kinds of food. Cereal is his favorite food, but he happily eats whatever I make for dinner. And before he left on his long trip last week, he even ate my–

(coughing sounds)

Ahem. I’m sorry, listeners. I forget that some things are not meant for polite company. My boyfriend is a good eater. That is all.

Speaking of my boyfriend, Larry Leroy out on the edge of town reports that he saw Link in the company of a man who is not tall. They were walking together. There were at the back of a truck, loading crates into it. The crates ticked quietly. They were talking, also quietly. The sheriff’s secret police report that unfortunately they were talking too quietly for their hidden microphones to hear.

(indignantly) Citizens. I ask you. What good are hidden microphones if they never do anything useful? What good are hidden mics if they can’t pick up very quiet voices?? I would like to use my platform as voice of Night Vale Community Radio to beg city council to allocate more tax dollars to the sheriff’s secret police, so that they will be able to purchase higher quality hidden microphones so that no conversation can go unheard.

Anyway. Link was working with a man who is not tall. My boyfriend is not short. Does... does this mean that he’s found someone else to partner with? Another duo in which he is the taller one instead of the shorter one? I _like_ that he’s the shorter one in our duo. I like that he can rest his head on my shoulder when we embrace, and that I can put my arm around his shoulders when he’s sad, and that I have to tilt his face up for us to kiss. I like when his dark hair gets messy and he lets me take his glasses off. I like...oh.

Intern Kareem has just passed me a note. It’s addressed to me, from Janet Rio from down the street. It reads, “This isn’t an audio diary or Youtube vlog, you dolt. Nobody wants to hear you get all mushy and gross about your boyfriend. Trust me, some of us live alone and don’t need to be reminded that other people are happy. Signed, Janet Rio from down the street. P.S. Please don’t read this on the air. I already have enough to worry about without hearing people gush over their partners while I have no one to keep me company. P.P.S. Oh God. You probably already read this out loud before you got to this part, didn’t you? Please don’t read the postscript then. Thank you.”

Old woman Josie reports that the Venus flytrap problem is spreading. Three flytraps sprang up on her property, with menacing teeth and slavering jowls, but they were slashed to pieces by a couple of visiting angels (which don’t exist of course). She is reported to have been very angry at them for killing the flytraps on her property, as Venus flytrap blood smells like old socks, looks like fizzing soda pop, and is very acidic.

Sheriff Sam called an emergency press conference give an official update on this problem. They informed all Night Vale citizens that the flytrap problem actually wasn’t that bad and that we should all stop complaining and go on about our daily lives.

“The flesh-eating Venus flytraps won’t harm you,” they said, as another one sprang from the earth several hundred feet from where the press conference was being held. “They won’t harm you unless you move, breathe, or show fear.”

The sheriff’s secret police began distributing survival pamphlets which read, “Stay still, breathless, and fearless” in bright glittery letters. They were interrupted by Pamela Winchell, overseer of emergency press conferences, who is reported to have said, “You can’t call emergency press conferences, you jerk. That’s my job.”

In response, the sheriff got off the podium and sculpted a meticulously detailed sandcastle that Pamela Winchell promptly stomped all over. She then summoned fire from the heavens, which swiftly consumed several reporters – much to everyone’s dismay – and burnt the flytrap to a crisp – much to everyone’s delight. Apparently her residual mayoral powers are still as strong as ever.

And now, traffic. There are cars on the road. Why are they there? Why are there always cars on the road? Why am I still working this thankless cubicle job? Why can’t we have people on the road one day, huh? Or dogs? It’s not like we can take them to the dog park with the hooded figures around and all. And why has it been four years since I’ve had a raise? Even in the middle of the night there are cars on the road. Even Julie the new hire in sales got a raise and all she does is scroll through Instagram when she thinks nobody’s watching. I see you Julie, double-tapping picture of cute puppies instead of tapping away at your computer keyboard on those expense reports that still aren’t done. I don’t understand why there are so many cars on the road all lined up end to end, bumpers barely touching, brake lights illuminated for miles and miles like a smear of fresh blood along the highway. I don’t understand how Julie is able to keep her job when she acts the way that she does.

I don’t understand.

This has been... traffic.

Speaking of traffic, my boyfriend knows a lot about cars. He has to, in order to speak knowledgeably to the mechanics when he gets the car we share repaired. He’s been in several accidents. He has a tendency to… get distracted when he drives. It makes me nervous, but I also...kinda like it?

You know what, no. No. I can’t take this anymore. I’m sending intern Kareem out to see if he can talk some sense into Link. No reason for him to be out while flesh-eating flytraps are springing up all over town!

All right.

Intern Kareem has left.

I’m feeling… lonely now, I think. It’s a strange feeling. I usually like being alone. Listeners… why doesn’t Link just come to see me? Is he angry with me? Usually when he’s angry, I know right away. Maybe he–

(door opens)

(annoyed) What is it? Didn’t you see the “ON AIR” sign above the–

(whispers) Link!

Link: Hey Rhett.

Rhett: Listeners, my boyfriend has just arrived, the love of my life is back in close proximity with me, Link is _here._ But...

Link: What’s wrong? Don’t want to kiss on-air, is that it?

Rhett: I’ve been hoping you’d show up all day, Link! Where have you been? What were you doing with the man who is not tall? Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?

Link: (confused) Rhett, don’t you remember what today is?

Rhett: Well. It’s not a street cleaning day. It’s not Valentine’s Day, thank goodness. Is it... your birthday?

Link: (laughs) Rhett, no! It’s _your_ birthday!

Rhett: I-it is?

Link: Yeah! See, I’ve been wracking my brain all trip trying to find you a present, but nothing I found seemed good enough. So I came back here and spent some time with the man who is not tall, who’s actually a wonderful man to know if you just take a moment to chat with him.

Rhett: Good to know.

Link: He promised if I helped him load some ticking crates into his truck, he’d make sure there was a great surprise waiting for you that the whole town could enjoy! I told him I wanted lots and lots of flowers with “LINK LOVES RHETT” written on them in delicate letters. But then the flesh-eating flytraps started popping up and I had a strange feeling that they were a misinterpreted version of my birthday gift to you, so I came up with something better.

Rhett: What? You’re not carrying any gifts.

Link: Oh, I’m carrying a gift, all right. (whispers) Just not where you can see.

Rhett: Oh? (realization dawns) OH.

Link: It’s pretty lousy, I know, but it’s the best I could do on short notice. You wanna... maybe go home so we can... unwrap it? Or do you wanna open your present here?

Rhett: (flustered) But I’m broadcasting right now. A-and station management-

Link: Station management is out for the day.

Rhett: What?

Link: As soon as the first flytraps showed up, they apparently remembered that they had an overnight trip planned with the city council. Won’t be back until tomorrow.

Rhett: Oh.

Link: So where were we? Oh yes, I was going to show you your present.

(kissing sounds)

Rhett: (stammering) Listeners, h-he’s in my lap now. His hands are in my hair. I can barely reach the mic anymore. I-I may have to end this broadcast early.

Link: (softly) Don’t do that, Rhett.

Rhett: (struggling) N-no... they’ll hear us, Link. Th... aahh...

Link: Let them. They’re all too busy with the flesh-eating flytraps to worry about anyone making love on community radio.

Rhett: But this isn’t _that_ kind of radio show.

Link: Mmm, but we could make it one. Kiss me again.

Rhett: Citizens of Night Vale, as my ohh – as my boyfriend takes me to the edge, I-I take you to the... weather!

(a very, very, VERY long duet between guitar and recorder plays)

(it plays even longer)

(there are screams in the distance)

(just as all listeners begin contemplating the merits of sawing off their own ears, the duet finally ends)

(there is a long silence)

Rhett: (weakly) Wow.

Link: (breathless) That was good, wasn’t it.

Rhett: (weakly) Y-yes. Incredible.

(brief pause)

Intern Kareem just got back. He reports that the Venus flytraps are gone, beaten back by the dulcet tones of guitar and recorder. It turns out that the one thing Venus flytraps hate the most are musical duets played badly. And so, we are all safe once more.

Link: You, um... you ready to get out of here?

Rhett: Yes. (pause) I am.

(clears throat) Stay tuned next for the sound of two middle-aged men arguing over whether the toilet paper roll should be hung over or under while distorted country music plays in the background. And as always...

Good night, Night Vale.

Good night. 


End file.
